


Sixteen Again

by gross_batpanda



Series: Chicagoland [5]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Come Swallowing, Dirty Talk, Feelings, Grooming, Id Fic, Lap Sex, M/M, Multi, Porn Watching, Threesome - M/M/M, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:58:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7391872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gross_batpanda/pseuds/gross_batpanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1990s Chicago punk AU. Mind the tags. Title (appropriately enough) comes from a Buzzcocks song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sixteen Again

It comes as no surprise that Ben is gorgeous but he’s a useless fuck. His lips are red from sucking George off, eyes heavy lidded, mouth open as he lets out breathy little cries, one right after the other. The noise is bugging the hell out of George, who’s got Ben pinned with one hairy arm around his stomach as he fucks up into him. Ben’s butt naked on his lap, pale legs splayed wide out to either side, bare feet resting against the couch cushions. George has his shirt off, jeans shoved down hastily by his ankles. Alex, by contrast, is mostly dressed. After all, he’d been brought there for reassurance above all else.

Tonight they’d all gone home together. It was a real show, twenty-one and over, and Ben had waited in the record store down the street until they’d come to retrieve him in the Tercel. Alex ran inside, dodging between fat raindrops, ignored Maria’s death ray glare. “You ready?” he asked, and Ben left behind the bins and whatever purchases he’d been contemplating making with his thirty dollars a week in allowance. He followed, obedient as ever, to clamber into the back seat. His long legs were practically folded up on themselves as they drove the few miles to George’s loft, and he stumbled, coltish, when he stood up on the pavement again.

They both get something out of it. Alex gets a place to crash, George gets his cock sucked magnificently, and the whole scene benefits when he’s getting that on the regular. What he would really like, though, is for Ben to have even a fraction of Alex’s skills. Because he’s exactly that kind of soft suburban kid that gets George’s nut up. He looks like he sleeps in a soft bed every night and takes a hot shower every morning.Like he goes to church on Sundays and feels guilty as hell whenever he tries to touch himself. His mom probably sends him off to class with a belly full of homemade blueberry pancakes. She drives him to school, and gives him an allowance that he’s never had to work an hour for, which he uses to buy band t-shirts. Shit beer, acid if he’s feeling particularly rebellious. Records in town, zines from mail order. Two dollars taped to the inside of a security lined envelope, a padded one gracing the mailbox a few weeks later. The family probably owns a golden retriever.

Ben, he thinks glumly, is the very opposite of streetwise. Fuck if George cares. Or rather, George cares a lot but only right now, while Ben is still soft, new, pliable. Wouldn’t he rather make out in the back seat with a boy his own age, fist his own cock in the shadows? Have kisses, shy and sensitive, in his bedroom back in Oak Park?

For his part, Alex has done all he can, over the past few weeks to make Ben as capable a cocksucker as he’ll ever be. In between work and interning, seeing old friends, writing pseudonymous columns for extra cash, he’s been a pal. Paying the favor forward for the next kid in line. Jesus, he’s spent hours on his knees perched in front of George’s hard dick, the soft bow of Ben’s mouth the most exquisite temptation.

George of course fucking looks like he’s died and gone to old man heaven when he’s got them both on the floor. There’s porn. There’s always porn. Sets the mood better than any album ever could. Every tape in his collection is worn down from repeated watching, the reels snagged and worn thin at his favorite parts.

With the head between their mouths they’ll kiss, a living barrier as their tongues find one another. Ben’s shy and probing, Alex’s insistent. They pass it back and forth between them, trading licks and sucks. Alex makes a game of it, tries to use his hands as little as possible, moves it with his nothing but his tongue, nips at it with his teeth. Tries to keep from showing off, figures it will only make Ben feel bad about himself. He learned the hard way how to get good. Can make a man come in four minutes flat, spit like a pro, and be out of there before the cops come. Hell, his dick won’t even get hard when he does it.

On his knees or laid out on his back, Ben is silent as a tomb, wide-eyed, like he still can’t believe what’s happening to him. He looks at George’s cock the same way he looks at George: desperate, eager to please, worshipful. But he’s so shit at it, Alex thinks glumly, and so it always has to end the same fucking way. George holds onto Ben’s head, interlocking his tatted fingers around his skull, and either sits or stands and fucks himself to completion. Alex sits back on his heels, fully clothed, and rubs Ben’s skinny back through his t-shirt, and whispers encouragement against his smooth cheek. “Relax, relax your jaw. Breathe through your nose. Let it happen, let it happen. I’m here, okay? I'm not going anywhere.”

Ben swallows, too, greedy for anything George will give. Alex? Always spits. Come sits heavy in his belly, makes it ache. Even when he’s gone without food for days on end, he’s never been hungry enough for that. Besides, it pisses the old man off.

Part of Alex wants to take him aside and tell him to stop giving over so much power to the old asshole. _You can suck him off and still keep your fucking dignity, you know_ , is what he would say. But he suspects that Ben would laugh it off and ignore the advice all the same. He certainly doesn’t know guys like George.

Alex, though, can see right through the facade. Hell, anyone could if they’d bother to pull their heads out of their self-absorbed asses for two fucking seconds. How George doesn’t make conversation unless he wants something. The way he treats women. How he’s friendlier with the cops than any self-proclaimed apolitical anarchist should be. But he’s got the aura, he’s got the prestige, and that’s all that matters. Time in Detroit, in New York, in Los Angeles, Berlin. Making music, drinking himself to death. Fresh meat. Friends who keep their mouths shut.

Ben, the idiot, has no such awareness. He’ll take whatever George doles out. He’ll lap it up like a dog and keen expectantly for more, tail wagging. Even now he’s clearly past his breaking point, wincing every time George thrusts, but he hasn’t offered so much as a peep in protest. There’s sweat standing out on his shoulders and beneath Alex’s hand, his thin leg is overheated, sticky.

When they got back to the loft, put on a tape, put on a record, passed a bottle of vodka around, then Alex got down to brass tacks. He might as well make it good for Ben, he'd reasoned. George had watched greedily as Alex ate Ben out, one hand down his pants and the other loosely clutching the bottle of Smirnoff. He’d shook his head when he'd asked permission to get Ben off, the selfish fucking bastard. Not like he'd stop at the one anyways, but fine. Fine. Alex merely shrugged, pressed his nose back against the hard lump of Ben’s spine, licking softly with the flat of his tongue until Ben was asking for it yet a-fucking-gain.

“I want to,” Ben had whined, rolling his hips against the sofa, and Alex had to pull his mouth away, nip kisses and bites all around his plump ass until he’d calmed down enough for George to be able to fuck. What George wants, he gets, and what he doesn’t want? Forget it.

“Baby,” Alex had soothed, rubbing gentle circles on Ben’s lower back, “we’ll get there, okay? I know you want to, but hold off. You’re gonna like this too, I promise.” He glanced up at George, his pupils blown, staring hungrily at Ben all laid out for him like a present. To George he asked, “Where do you want him?” and Ben, sweet thing, had moaned at the prospect. George had even growled a little bit. 

So now they’re here, Ben’s slim legs draped over George’s thick hairy thighs. Alex is set off a bit to the side, watching, coaxing. He’s here to help, one hand stroking Ben’s shoulder, a comforting presence as he gets his ass reamed. Each staccato _ah ah ah s_ purs George on to greater, deeper thrusts, and Alex is starting to worry a little bit. If he reaches down and touches Ben’s stomach, he swears he can feel the head of George’s dick pressing out against it. There will be bruising internally tomorrow. 

“Jesus,” George is saying, rubbing his forehead against Ben’s sweaty neck, “Jesus, kid, you’re so fucking tight.” And then he turns to Alex the third wheel, casual as can be, and thanks him for looking after his boy. “You opened him up real nice, Alex,” he says, smoothing his hands along Ben’s damp sides. "Good work, I knew I could count on you. You liked that, didn't you, Benjamin?" he asks. Another one of those noises wrenches free from his throat, causing George to grimace in irritation. Ben's too far gone for a real answer but he nods his head limply. He's been told to like it, conditioned by gentle penetration, soft words of encouragement. It's Pavlovian now, for him to like it. For the rest of his life, it'll be like this. 

Pretty boy Ben is a whiner, too. Whines when George hits the back of his throat and tries to flinch away from the stab of it. Whines when he pulls his hair too hard, when his knees hurt, when the cock is out of his mouth, in his mouth, laid up wet and slick against his cheek. He’s whining now, practically gnashing his teeth to try and contain the sounds.

Alex has some idea of how to help. Him? He likes the whining. It’s cute. Sure, it annoys George, but then, he always was selfish as shit. Get a pretty young thing writhing on your dick and then not want to hear them? The fuck is that about? “Kiss me,” Alex demands, and pushes his face right up beneath Ben’s. This close he smells of Ivory soap, cheap cigarettes, fabric softener.

Ben flinches momentarily, but soon acquiesces into the kiss. He brings one hand up to touch the side of Alex’s face just as he’s knocked forward on a particularly brutal thrust. Another one of those sounds leaks out, unbidden George grumbles; Ben’s face goes pale, and he pulls back, afraid that he’s caused displeasure. "You're good," Alex reassures him, "you're doing so good." 

George is close to getting his nut, Alex can tell. He’s got his hands locked one on top of the other just below Ben’s belly button, ricocheting his body up and down along his length. The television has turned to static indicating that the end of the tape has been reached. Alex thoughtfully grabs the remote and rewinds, double, quadruple fast, to right before a money shot he knows will do the trick. He drops the remote back onto the coffee table with a loud clatter, then exchanges a glance with George.

The man is barely cognizant, eyes practically rolling back in his head. His stubble stands out dark against his cheek as he hammers the boy in his lap. Alex knows from experience that being inside Ben is a kind of hallelujah chorus, a religious experience. Ben is managing to hold up against the onslaught, but he's still wincing as he’s pounded, and he should feel good, too. Ben should get something out of this. George won’t protest, he decides, and swallows a few times to get the flow of saliva going in his mouth. He leans over, takes the sensitive head of Ben’s slender cock in his mouth and gives it a gentle suck. Again, more thorough, one long slick slide from root to tip and then wide-mouthed to the base to do it again.

“Alex,” pleads Ben, his red lips open in a gasp, “It’s too good, don’t, don’t.”

He responds by shaking his head, tightening his suction. Below them both George is moving so fast that his hips are a blur. On the screen, someone is screaming, forced to get off against their will. It’s fake, Alex thinks, or hopes, but it’s borderline disturbing. Ben shouldn’t have to see that, watch that. He pulls off, nuzzles wet lips against scratchy pubes. “Watch me,” he instructs, “eyes on me. And,” he plants a sucking kiss to one side of Ben’s stomach, then the other, “think about that nice big dick inside of you, splitting you open. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Oh fuck,” Ben gasps, as George releases him at the top and lets gravity do the work of bringing him down, balls fucking deep. It’s really hot to watch, but Ben needs to relax before George pops off or he’ll squeeze his fucking dick off. And not in a good way.

Alex’s head bobs and weaves as Ben is hiked up once more, released again. His bare toes are flexing, practically clawing at the brown couch cover. He keeps him close, for all George’s jostling, and when he loses it, spasms from the stomach and screams out _fuckfuckfuckohfuck_ the seal doesn’t so much as break between mouth and cock.

The load is flat-tasting, almost sweet. He has a good diet, it makes sense that his come would taste all right. George is back to his relentless pace, moving Ben like a rag doll along his cock, boneless, limp, fucked out. He comes with a thrown-back head and a groan that rattles the ceiling fixtures. When he looks up at Ben, there are tears caught in his thick eyelashes, threatening to spill out onto his flushed cheeks. 

He waits until George is looking right at him, his smoker’s breath coming in heavy rasps as he comes back to himself. Ben is still impaled on George’s flagging dick, squirming to be let down and for feeling to come back into his legs. Alex has a mouthful of come stashed behind pursed lips, and several things he could do with it. But because it’s Ben’s, he looks at George with what he hopes is a malevolent twinkle, and pointedly, deliberately, swallows.


End file.
